


Hello Hello

by schim



Category: Adventure Time
Genre: Age Difference, Aged-Up Character, Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Human, M/M, Oral Sex, Single Parents
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-10-07
Updated: 2012-08-17
Packaged: 2017-10-24 09:30:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/261822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/schim/pseuds/schim
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A human AU where Prince Gumball (Beauregard Gumell) is a 31 year old professional who takes on fatherly duties when his best friend can't take her son overseas with her. Raising his godson would have been a cakewalk if not for the trouble of Thursdays. [HIATUS]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Two Hellos and One Goodbye

**Author's Note:**

> Fic "theme song": http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k5b_8V8Q6-4
> 
> \----------  
> This fic is on HIATUS status which it is completely outlined and may be finished someday.

Fuck Thursdays.

Fuck _every_ Thursday.

The only downside to a Thursday becoming a Friday was that the week would roll back around to another fucking Thursday. For some people, Wednesday was a shit day, halfway through the week, but at least those people had the benefit of it being halfway over. Even more people hated Mondays with a passion so bright that they bought coffee mugs dedicated to it.

Beauregard Gumell hated Thursdays.

It was a recent development.

His entire childhood was free from tainted Thursdays. They were just another day with no significance. Back then, his biggest worry was the level of potential danger in his best friend's “adventure time”. More than a few scars lasted through the years and Beau wore them with quiet pride.

Two phone calls changed Thursdays forever.

The first call was from his best friend, she needed to go overseas on short notice. Taking her son with her was not an option. It was something of an unexpected honor when she asked if he could care for her son while she was away. Beauregard accepted without a second's hesitation, anything for her.

Anything for Fionna.

The second call ended in tears.

The jerk didn't even have the decency to wait another day to tell him. No, he told him on Thursday, the same day that Fionna's son arrived. It was dinnertime when his cellphone rang and by the time the call was over, his food was still warm.

That was it.

No explanation beyond _it's not working_. No long talk about their feelings or how things needed to change. No face to face. No nothing. Just a quick phone call, as toneless as an automated voicemail reminding him to pay a past due bill.

Three years gone in less than three minutes.

The satisfaction of a long night of sobbing was out of the question. With Finn there, he had a responsibility. So after a quick clean up, he swallowed his despair and returned to table with a smile.

The rest of the evening was uneventful aside from the fact Lemon, his young Pomeranian, stayed quiet despite the new addition to their household. Peppermint, his Scottish Terrier, stayed with him and slept on her owner's feet. Beau kept his mind occupied by helping Finn with his Algebra homework.

After Finn finished his work, Beau checked his cellphone and was greeted with a wave of texts. News spread fast, apparently. With a sigh, he made sure Finn was settled in and had all the appropriate emergency numbers before he wished him a goodnight. He couldn't deny a pang of guilt for leaving the boy alone in a new house, but his mind was a mess. It needed to be scrambled and sorted.

The suggested night out of drinking and hitting every bar and club in town was just what Beau needed. At least a drunken stupor would keep his mind off _him_.

By the third club, Beau found himself sitting at the bar, head in his hands, staring down at a drink he didn't remember ordering. It was half gone and the taste of strawberries lingered on his tongue.

“Hello there.”

Beau turned to meet the stranger's eyes. They were brown, like the color of half dried blood. The black of the man's hair was like a shaggy frame to the softness that lingered in the corners of his face. He was probably barely old enough to get in and a quick glance at the X on his hand confirmed that suspicion. The choice of outfit was unusual for the club scene, but by the way he carried himself, he didn't seem to give a damn.

“Guten Tag,” Beau mumbled as his eyes made no effort to hide their curious wandering up and down the man's body. Baggy clothes hid the fact he was a bit on the skinny side, but that was alright. He had a nice smile and an even nicer set of lips.

“Ha.” The man seemed to notice Beau's eyes and shifted his stance so his legs were spread a little more and his package all the more visible. “Trying to be cute and make me think you can't speak English or something?”

Beau spoke to the man's crotch, eyes tracing along the fly. Alcohol was never good at remembering things like manners. Eyes may have been up there, but far more interesting things were down. “No. I just, it sounded like the right thing to do.”

“Mm.” The man leaned in and the view of his crotch was obstructed by his long outer shirt, which hung unbuttoned. “I think the right thing to do would be dancing with me.”

“Would it?” Beau looked up and took a drawn out sip from his drink. It was more of a casual chug, really.

“You look like you're in desperate fucking need of fun.”

Beau licked the strawberry flavor off his lips. “Are you trying to tell me that you plan on providing this 'fun'?”

The man snorted a laugh and leaned closer, their legs touching. Beau let out a soft breath and felt warmth climb his face. “Babe. I'm gonna rock your world.”

Time lost all meaning and measurability on the dance floor. Music thumped like a rapid heartbeat full of fear and panic. Their bodies ground together and their hands became curious. Each time the man's hands tried to test their limits, Beau challenged by pressing into them.

The man was at Beau's neck with those firm lips when Beau gasped out a question far too close to a plea. The answer was a grin and a motion to follow.

It was easy to find a secluded corner of the backalley. Beau's sober mind would have screamed every safety concern, but alcohol hushed it. The man shoved him against a brick wall and Beau gasped as his leg ground up against his painful, confined erection. Teeth, a bit more pointed than normal, traced around the already damp flesh of Beau's neck.

Beau whimpered and shoved him away. The last thing he needed was to be marked by some one time deal, especially since he had a kid in the house. The man grinned, his hands staying on the wall as he moved to give Beau more room to sink down to his knees.

Inside, the music thumped, nothing more than a dull drone to outside. Beau's head swam in a good way. The earlier despair was beaten down by the excitement of mixed drinks and tenting dick. His hands leapt up, awkward and confused, as they tore at his jeans like a long awaited birthday present.

Above him, the man let out a huff of a breath and rolled his hips. Beau worked his pants down and mouthed up the side of his still clothed dick. Only the thin layer of the boxer's fabric kept their flesh apart.

“Fuck,” the man hissed through his teeth. “You're really fucking jonesing for some cock, aren't you?”

Heat radiated through Beau with each word. The man's voice was deep and it started to dip down into a growl. Beau breathed a whimper against the man's shaft and he slid farther up, to the tip, as his hand struggled with freeing his own erection.

Something wasn't right. When Beau reached the tip, his lips met something circular, something very hard and warm. He blinked and pressed the flat of his tongue against it, curling it around the outer edges of what felt like a ring.

Patience seemed to wear thin in Beau's partner. It was made more than obvious when he shoved his boxers down and his freed cock sprang out against Beau's nose and open mouth. Beau could barely see it, but a ring hung from the tip of the man's cock. He licked his way back up to it, exploring it with his tongue.

“You like, that, don't you?” The man's hand fell down to stroke Beau's hair and guide his head forward.

Beau hummed in reply as he took him in his mouth, tongue cradling against the man's dick. The hand on Beau's head moved down, stroking against his hair and holding him in place. Hips slid forward and Beau's nose was flush with the man's shirt. A groaning sigh escaped Beau as he worked himself out of his pants. Damn skinny jeans, like deathtraps of looking damn fine.

“Ffffuck.” The man's mouth hung open with a groan. “No gag,” he gasped when Beau curled his tongue, “reflex, huh? You must be a pretty fucking experienced cocksucker.”

The way his words rolled like growling music did something to Beau. Something _good_. He squeezed his own cock, trying not to pump, not just yet. The only relief he allowed himself was a steady swirl of his thumb over the tip of his otherwise neglected dick.

“Yeah,” the man panted, rocking his hips in a steady rhythm. “Yeah, I bet you've had all kinds of, ah, practice.”

A well angled twist of Beau's tongue nearly sent the man toppling over. His hand scraped against the brick as his body bowed. The slow motion of his hips quickened, building speed with each thrust. His grip on Beau's hair tightened and Beau jerked at the small tingle of pain.

“Fuck,” the man grunted, his words devolving to sounds. Sounds that made Beau's hand pump in time with the dick that slammed into the back of his throat over and over.

Growls became gasping moans until the man came with the pop of a whimper. With slow, deep thrusts, he spilled down Beau's throat, huffing a small laugh when he gagged on him. Beau was yanked off with a wet smack and a cough.

The tail-end of the man's climax landed on Beau's face and dripped down his lips.

Beau looked up, his eyes half lidded and drunk. Drunk on mixed drinks and drunk on the thrill of lust. He licked off what he could reach with his tongue, slowly, as the focus of his mind was on keeping the hand on his dick moving.

Despite the fact the man's cock was spent, he swung his long legs around to plant his boots on either side of Beau's bent knees. Beau gasped as the man's hips came forward until the back of his head pressed against the cold brick wall. Everything became a deep spice of musk with the lingering scent of fresh sex. His dick, half hard and wet, pressed against Beau's cheek. The ring dangled against his lips and Beau parted them to tug with his tongue.

“Ah. Fuck,” the man breathed and lowered his hand down, stroking Beau's hair in a way that savored its softness.

Beau whimpered into the heat and his movements became uneven, confused. He opened his mouth to swallow air and the man took it as a welcome for his dick, rubbing it over his lips and teeth.

“Hey. What's your name?” The steady growl full of cocky confidence was back.

“B-Beau,” he breathed out before his lips returned to the man's dick.

“Beau?” The man bit his lip to hold in what sounded like a laugh before he bent his head down, as close as he could get. Breath rolled out in a low, hot purr. “Beau. Come for me.”

It was all Beau needed. His head closed what little gap was between his head and the wall. The world became an overload and he was lost. He was no longer sure where the orgasm ended and alcohol began, and he didn't care.

The man stepped back and zipped himself proper.

“So what kinda dumb name is Beau?” The man laughed.

Beau's high crashed as sudden as it had risen. “What?”

“Beau? Like Bo-bo? What, were your parents all about clowns or something?”

“It's,” Beau took a second to breathe and tried to stand up. He failed. “It's short for Beauregard.”

“It's pretty lame is what it is.” The man pulled out a cigarette and lit it. “You should think about changing it.”

Beau frowned. “That is an incredibly rude thing to say to someone who—-.”

“Who just sucked your dick like they haven't had a taste of sweet manmeat in years?” The man laughed out a cloud of smoke when Beau's face went hot. “It's real fucking cute that you think I owe you anything, sweetheart.”

“I.”

“You wanted to have a go at my cock and you fucking got what you wanted, what's your problem?”

“Your _attitude_ is my problem.” Beau tucked himself back into his pants.

The man laughed, harder, and shook his head. “Man, what? How about _your_ attitude?”

The smirk that hung on the man's lips screamed _PUNCH ME_. Beau ignored the growing urge, his legs hurt and each struggle to stand was practically a Broadway production of failure.

“ _Excuse me_.” Beau narrowed his eyes when the man laughed again. “My attitude?”

“Yeah. Yours.” The man tapped his cig before pulling in another drag. “Look, I know what the fuck this is all about. Don't try to be cute and pretend it is anything other than what it fucking is.”

“And what is it, if you don't mind me asking?”

“I told you, it is what it is. It's a fucking one time thing. You can't tell me otherwise, hun. You don't go into a bar, already drunk and begging to taste the first dick that shows you a good time if you're on some romantic quest for prince fucking charming.”

He sucked the last of his cig and flicked it. “Nah. Don't try to play this off like we're some old married couple and it's 'your turn' because I fucking let you trap me in matrimonial obligations. I don't owe you shit, sugar.”

“Wanna know what's with my 'attitude'?” The man leaned in, his smirk in perfect striking range. “Because you see me as nothing more than an experience, an _object_ for you to play with and trash once the next 'better' model comes along.”

“Ain't happening, cupcake.”

Beau clenched his fist.

 **BAM.**

The man stumbled backwards, hand to his mouth. Blood dripped down his chin and he stared, eyes wide before dropping down to add to his smug grin. Beau's chest heaved as he stood. He swayed and his legs ached, his hand ached too, but he ignored them.

An angry finger jabbed the man's chest.

“Look here,” Beau huffed. Rage threatened to steal his ability to talk. “You do not, do NOT, tell me what you _think_ my motives are. You do NOT know me and to be honest I would like to keep it that way, thank you very much.”

The man laughed as if his finger tickled and Beau shoved him away.

“I hope you had fun because that's the last you'll ever get.”

“Aw, but sweetheart, it was so good.” The man licked the blood from his lips. “You were so into it. Won't you miss this great piece of dick?”

“NO. I _won't_.” Beau stumbled his way out of the alley and left the growing laughter behind.

“Jerk.”

The first of a long, torturous string of Thursdays was over, only to slowly count down to the next. Beau called in sick the next day to nurse a hangover. Previously unnoticed in his stupor, Beau found an irritating parting “gift” left by a night he wanted to forget. A hickey, small but dark, peeked just over the collar of his shirt.

Fuck Thursdays.


	2. An Unexpected Matchmaker

“And then I almost hit the wall straight on, but I was like, yeah right wall! I'm gonna do a mad flip over you because you ain't nothing. Pschooo!”

Three weeks passed since Finn arrived. It was odd at times; Finn was so much like his mother that it left Beau with an ache he could only describe as nostalgia. They shared the same blond, tameless hair, which was getting on the long side with Finn, and Beau made a mental note of a possible salon visit. And their eyes. Their eyes were blue like a warm tropical ocean, pure and vivid.

It was like having the ghost of an old friend living in his home.

“And that's how I got THIS.” Finn lifted up his pants leg to reveal a poorly bandaged scraped knee.

Beau's eyes stung from how wide they went.

“F-Finn!” Beau sputtered over his tea. “Why didn't you tell me this sooner?”

Finn shrugged. “I thought a story would've been way cooler.”

Yep, definitely Fionna's son.

After a proper clean up from his tackle box-sized first aid kit, Beau sighed. At least Finn was at an age where he could take care of himself, most of the time. Beau didn't want to think about how things must have been on a daily basis when the boy was younger. Whenever Fionna visited years ago, her son always left with no less than three wounds. But he was tough like his mother, and just as headstrong.

“Can I get a ride to my friend's house?” Finn swung his legs over his barstool chair. The legs wobbled and threatened to toss him out.

Beau eyed it as he took a nervous sip of tea.

“Is it alright with your friend's parents?”

“Heck yeah. Her mom is just crazy busy and can't pick me up.” Finn flashed a mouth full of blue braces. “Couldja take me, Gummy, pleeeaasee?”

Beau's lips went tight when he used _the name_. The same name the boy's mother always used before she convinced him into doing something he would later partially regret. Partially, because life always had a way of balancing out with Fionna. If anything, she was an incredibly lucky woman.

“Alright, alright. But make sure you keep your cell phone with you, okay?” Beau set his teacup in the sink and rinsed it off. “And _on_ this time.”

“Sure thing, man.” Finn pumped a victory fist in the air as he jumped off the barstool with a clatter.

The drive was filled with Beau's typical safety routine, which Finn humored only with a few nods and a well placed _yeah mhm_ or two. They got lost, and Beau was certain they had crossed a few streets more than once. It wasn't so much Finn's lack of direction, Beau suspected, but his oftentimes inconvenient sense of adventure.

Pulling up into the driveway was nonetheless relieving. Beau had barely two wheels in when Finn started to scramble out of the car. Even going less than five miles an hour, Beau slammed on the brakes as Finn tumbled out. Beau rolled down his window to say something about Finn's knee, but his words went unheard and Finn was already at the front door.

The door opened after Finn knocked only once. A man answered, looked down at Finn, then past him and straight at Beau. He grinned with a wink.

Beau's tires squealed.

And he didn't slow down until he had run two stop signs and nearly sideswiped an old Cadillac.

Fuck Thursdays. Fuck Thursdays. Fuckthursdaysohgod.

The following hours were spent shaking over mug after mug of tea. Lemon, after ignored whimpers and hand-licks, cried until Beau settled down enough to let her sleep in his lap. Peppermint curled up in the chair beside him, slowly wagging her tail whenever Beau's hand fell to scratch her behind the ears.

Shaking turned to trembles and trembles turned to long sighs.

 _He_ was there. Just as smug and cocky and punchable as the night they met. Beau shuddered as memories slipped back like unwelcome strangers. Not even a full gulp of tea could wash away the taste his memory let linger.

Time went by and Beau found his nerves to be in much better condition than before. Lemon squeaked disapproval at losing her warm lap-bed, but was content to take her frustrations out on a new, already half destroyed toy.

There were no messages on Beau's cellphone. Finn was supposed to text him before his curfew.

Beau frowned down at Peppermint, who looked up with a wag of her tail.

“Why me? Why him? Why this?”

Resistance was impossible and Beau crouched down to pet Peppermint's head. She leaned into the touch and licked his wrist. Beau sighed again.

“This is butts, Pepper. Total butts.” He stuck his bottom lip out, making a show of his displeasure for an audience who was having none of it. “Hey, you cutie. Stop trying to ruin my bad mood.”

Peppermint pressed her nose against Beau's hand, snuffling and licking until he laughed. “Okay, okay.” He stroked under her jaw and leaned down to give her a kiss on the snout. “I'm fine now.”

The smile he wore was forced and his stomach hurt. Seeing that jerk of a man again was the last thing Beau ever wanted to do again, but he had to be responsible. Finn was there, in the beast's lair. The thought brought a huff of a laugh to Beau's lips. It was definitely adventure material.

Time to rescue his godson from the evil one night stand.

The drive back was much longer than when he left.

It took ten minutes of sitting in the driveway before Beau could cut off the engine. He stared at his phone, watching the clock numbers change over and over without a single text from Finn. The house was quiet and Beau frowned. Waiting outside was not an acceptable option. It was ridiculous for a grown man, one with a doctorate no less, to sit in a driveway like a nervous teenager.

With a deep breath and soft _I can do this_ to himself, Beau got out of the car.

One knock was all it took.

Less than one knock, it seemed. The door opened too fast for comfort. Beau tried to ignore the possibility that he had been watched. Instead he focused on trying to force blind ignorance and flashed his politest smile when _he_ answered.

“Hi. I'm here to pick up Finn.”

The man didn't answer right away. Not until his eyes had a thorough rundown of Beau, who shifted side to side.

“Come on in.” The way he put emphasis on particular words made Beau wince through his smile.

“Thank you.” Beau glanced around the foyer, eyes searching for anything to look at other than the man.

The house was an average house in an average neighborhood. Two stories with a garage. If Beau had to guess, he'd say it was a three bedroom home. Crosses and religious decorations lined the walls. They were something of a foreign entity in Beau's homes and his attention lingered far too long on a particular painting. Somewhere past the dining room, Finn's screeching laughter echoed.

“He's not ready, is he?” Beau asked without looking away.

Silence was the answer.

Beau glanced back, though his eyes were quick to jump away from the man's. They instead fell on the small dark crucifix he wore around his neck. It twisted Beau's stomach too much to look him in the eye.

“He gets-- really excited. And.” Beau dared another glance up in an internal battle of politeness and shame. “He can forget---lose track of time, I mean.”

“Are you fucking serious?” The man finally spoke with a trailing laugh. “Is this the game we're gonna play?”

Something in his tone made Beau's eyes narrow. “This isn't a game.”

“Sure seems like it,” the man grinned, “cupcake.”

“I'm just here to pick up my godson, okay?” Beau's tone held more threat than his words dared to express.

“So pretending you don't remember me, hm.” The man put a hand to his face, brushing over his bottom lip. It still hadn't completely healed and he stroked over the scab. “Sure seems like a game to me, sweetheart. Cute really is your forte, huh?”

What was momentary guilt turned to something else. Something that narrowed Beau's eyes and clenched his fists.

“I am not going to let you bait me,” Beau huffed, his face growing warm.

The man laughed and his tone slipped implications he didn't need to say. “You're nibbling.”

It was not the man's house, Beau reminded himself, but his parents'. He couldn't lose his cool and give the man another well deserved smack in his parents' house. The thought of parents sent an odd, sick flutter through Beau. Parents. That, doubled with the underage drinker's X at the club, sucker punched Beau with realization.

He wasn't a man, he was a boy. A kid somewhere beyond ten years his junior. Beau frowned at the possibility. The kid looked old enough, but how was he to know if he didn't fake his ID. He seemed like the type.

A troublemaker.

Beau didn't want to think about what that made him for what they shared in a dirty back alley.

“Let me show you something.”

“What?” Beau blinked, searching the man's face for mischief.

“I think you'll like it.”

“We should get going.”

“Look. You can stop the whole stupid little sweetiepie act.” The man turned towards the stairs and climbed the first one before looking back at Beau. “We both know that kid's not going anywhere for a while.”

“Your mother.” Beau watched as the man took a few more steps.

“Her meeting doesn't get out for another hour.” His eyes rolled in his voice.

Beau took slow steps after him. “What exactly are you planning on showing me?”

“You won't regret it, hun.”

“What if I do?”

The man turned around at the top of the stairs. The handrail creaked as Beau's grip tightened to avoid falling either which way.

“Trust me.”

Beau's eyes narrowed to an uncertain squint. “Why would I do that? You haven't exactly given me any good reasons to.”

“Why not?” The man continued walking up the stairs and towards a closed door with three crosses tacked on it. “I haven't _exactly_ given you any reasons not to.” He smirked as he opened the door and let Beau inside.

As soon as he set foot inside, uneasy feelings fought for dominance. Guilt was proceeded by a quick glance around the messy room. Posters lined the walls and ceiling like cheap wallpaper. The bed was an unmade heap in the corner. Another feeling, one he fought so hard to repress, reminded him of where he was and who he was with and what they had done.

That feeling was _excitement_.

The lock clicked and Beau shuddered at what the sound meant.

“Take a seat.” The man gestured, then laughed at Beau's confused expression over the lack of chairs. “On the bed, sweetheart.”

A tug and straightening of the covers was necessary before Beau sat down on the plaid sheets. His eyes didn't leave the man. Like prey in a predator's den, Beau's muscles stayed tense and alert. Lower muscles stayed alert for another possibility, but they were quick to be scolded.

The thump of a stool set at his feet made Beau jump.

“What are you---.” Beau let his voice trail off as the man left to rummage in a deep closet.

“You need to let loose.”

Thoughts of what that could imply pursed Beau's lips.

The man clicked something open. “You're wound so fucking tight,” he came back with an old acoustic guitar, “that you're gonna fucking snap if you don't chill, cupcake.”

A few strums of the guitar shut down any remark Beau wanted to make. The man made a few adjustments, more testing strums, then music happened. A melody, soft, sweet, flowing like a steady river. Warm like spring stepping out of winter. The man's fingers glided like they had minds of their own, plucking out perfection.

“I've been working on this one for a while.”

Beau didn't notice his eyes were closed until the man spoke. He opened them to find he was being stared at.

“It's.” Beau sighed out his earlier tension and a smirk told him the man took notice. “It's lovely.”

“Not what you were expecting, hm, sweetheart?”

The song changed, but flowed just as well.

“You probably thought I was going to try to smang it or something, huh?”

“Do you have to do that?”

“Mm? Do what, sweetcakes? Rub in the fact you're like everyone else?” The beat picked up, his fingers moved faster. “That you look at me and see what everyone else sees? Some punk ass kid with a one track mind for trouble.”

“I don---.”

“I thought you said you didn't want to play games here.” The man's fingers slowed back down to the first song, soft and gentle. “Don't try to play like you're a sweet innocent little angel. Only one you're convincing here is yourself, hun.”

“I'm sorry.” Beau's voice was low, and the music went lower as if handing him the floor. “I'm sorry I hit you.”

“Don't blame you. Heh.” The man set the guitar in his lap and he leaned over it. “I would've hit me too.”

For the first time since they first met, Beau was able to meet the man's eyes and not look away. At the club they were darkened, but in the light of his room, hidden fires of red shone through.

“Does it hurt?”

“Nah.” The man's tongue slid out, proving it with a lick to his scab. A previously unnoticed silver ball jut out from the man's tongue. Beau's eyes went wide and he wondered just how many places the man was pierced.

And found himself wanting to know.

“Kids are probably ready to go.” The man stood and put the guitar away.

“Yeah. They are.” Beau's voice was distant and slow.

When Finn was gathered up and it was time to leave, the boy raced to the car. Beau and the man were left standing in the doorway under dim porch light.

“Give me your hand.”

Beau quirked a brow. “Why?”

“Just give it, cupcake.”

Slowly, like a gazelle testing the water for crocodiles, Beau extended his hand. The man took it in his own, his hand on top. There was something there between them. Something small and light that tickled Beau's palm. Beau looked up, eyes full of question, but all he got was a smirk from the man as he slid his hand away, fingertips teasing along Beau's as he went.

It was a little piece of paper.

With a number written on it.

A phone number.

Beau glanced up and the man wiggled his brows once.

“So.” Beau tucked the number away in his pocket. He tried to ignore the smile that was warming his face. “What name should I put this as?”

The man leaned in, voice soft and wispy, nearly a purr.

“Marshall.”


	3. Strawberry Cream

“I thought you didn't eat meat.”

Marshall watched as Beau prepared a tray of garlic bread and then moved on to chopping tomatoes.

“You know, like, meat that isn't _man_ meat.”

Beau spun around, eyes wide and warning. He spoke through his teeth and motioned to the other room.

“ _Marshall_.”

“Ha.”

Weeks turned to months and Marshall became a piece of Beau's life, a piece that settled into routine and was determined to climb its way up into habit. Marshall's mother was indeed a busy woman. Beau met her once. She was friendly, efficient, but something about her seemed like she wasn't all there. It was like something was missing and that something was long out of her reach.

Beau didn't ask for what she didn't say.

Nothing lead Beau to believe she needed help, but he welcomed Marshall and his sister for dinner whenever they were over. And there was always extra to take home. Beau was looking for a reason to use his sectioned Tupperware anyway.

Dinner that night was on the simple side, by Beau's standards. He tried to plan meals not only to be nutritious, but enjoyable for even the pickiest taste buds. A spaghetti dinner, his grandfather's recipe. Each ingredient was organic: homemade meatballs and sauce, fresh pasta. Dinner was to be proceeded by fresh garden salads with a selection of dressings that varied from market bought, family traditions, to store bought versions that fit tastes Beau excused as _young and inexperienced_.

Before dinner, when Beau was setting the table, Marshall leaned over a chair and watched.

“You miscounted there, sweetheart.”

“What are you talking about?” Beau looked down. Four bamboo placemats with four sets of everything.

“There's only one wine glass.” Marshall picked up one of the tumbler glasses and shook it. “There should be two, hun. Not one. _Two_.”

“Marshall. I know for a fact that you are not old enough to drink.” Beau continued to set down silverware, adjusting them so they were lined up at equal distances.

“Old enough in Canada.”

“This isn't Canada.”

Marshall shrugged and pushed a fork so it lay at an angle. “Close enough. What's one or five glasses of wine, cupcake? It's not like it's hard liquor or anything. Besides, it's all traditional and stuff with Italian food.”

“If I let you have a glass 'or five',” Beau sighed as he fixed the off set fork, “then everyone will want it. I will not have my home be a host to drunken tee-.” He cut himself off with a wince.

“Teenagers, sweetheart. _Teenagers_.” Marshall grinned with an open mouth, tongue ring flashing.

Clever boy. _Too_ clever.

Beau inwardly groaned. Marshall was learning as many ways to get under his skin as he could. Subtle hints and not so subtle hints were a constant. The way Marshall brushed past him, the way his fingers traced like warm whispers, the way his eyes confirmed what his smiles implied. They all pointed to one thing, one thing that Beau had not graced him with since they first met.

Marshall wanted to get under his skin in more ways than one.

And Beau's sturdy walls were starting to wobble. He wasn't ready for another Trojan to penetrate his defenses with another case of fanciful illusion and broken promises. Heartache still lingered from the last invasion. What little remained of his heart was still rebuilding from ash.

“Don't worry about it, cupcake.” Marshall slid up beside Beau like an awkward stranger in a small room. Their hips touched and Marshall reached down to straighten a knife for Beau.

Beau turned his head. Marshall was so close that he could smell the hours old body wash that clung to his skin. It had faded enough to let his natural smell through and Beau had to fight himself to keep from resting his head on Marshall's shoulder. Night after night, alone the darkness, tired and spent, Beau had remembered that scent.

Remembered and was soothed into sleep by the thoughts of living realities over the memories of ghosts.

“You're not going to give up, are you?” Beau huffed as if it'd cool his cheeks.

“Nah.” Marshall grinned and bumped him with his hip before leaving the table with the offending tumbler glass.

One glass of wine didn't become five, but instead four. Beau was relieved that Marceline and Finn were in mutual agreement that wine was “super gross”. Dinner was pleasant and Beau was pleased. Most of the conversations were started and maintained by the kids. As always, Beau was happy to listen. Marshall was otherwise occupied with packing away as much food as he could and he only slowed down when Beau reminded him to save room for dessert.

Not the tidiest of eaters, Marshall let sauce hang on his lips and at the corner of his mouth.

Throughout dinner, Beau caught himself staring.

And wanting to lick him clean.

Dessert was Beau's grandmother's family recipe, strawberry tarts with a scoop of ice cream. The kids took theirs' to the living room to watch television, leaving Marshall and Beau alone. Beau took the wine away well before dinner ended and dessert began, but still the edge of Marshall's words slurred and he laughed more than usual.

“I knew letting you drink was a bad idea,” Beau said after swallowing a spoonful of ice cream and tart.

“Oh, sweetheart. Sweetheart. This is so good.” Marshall moaned as he sucked his spoon. “Oh my godddd.”

As Marshall sank in his chair, legs wide and spread in a most lewd fashion, Beau was very grateful the kids weren't there to see.

“I'm glad you like it.” Beau sipped his coffee and took another small bite.

“Yeah. Yeah, I like it.” Marshall scooped more into his mouth, head falling back. “I love it. So fucking good. Your hands are magical, cupcake. Nothing but pure crafted magic. Oh yesss.”

Beau's eyes fell to Marshall's stomach and the exposed trail of hair that lead down into his pants.

“Now I just think you're overreacting.”

Marshall leaned forward and his chair rattled on the stone floor. “No. Nooo. Cupcake, I'm serious. You just know. Things. Good things. You do them good. So good, sugar, so good.”

Beau's lips tightened when Marshall's eyes went half-lidded and his tongue ran up and down his spoon.

“I'm not letting you have wine again.”

Marshall laughed. “Cupcake, you're something else.”

“I believe the one who fills that role is you, Marshall.”

“Yeah. I do a lot of filling, don't I?” Marshall's brows rose and his voice went smooth.

Beau finished his coffee and set the mug down. “No more wine.”

It was very late when Marshall got a message from his mother. She wouldn't be home and the two would need to find a ride home. The two siblings had been dropped off hours earlier and Beau was happy to take them back home, despite his exhaustion. Marshall sobered up, for the most part. He was at least at a tolerable level.

As tolerable as he could be.

Marceline sat in the backseat. More like _laid_ in it, but Beau allowed her despite safety concerns. He made up for it by driving slower. Balled up under her head was Marshall's hoodie, where it served as a makeshift pillow. Beau ignored his pangs of envy in silence.

“I had a good night, sweetheart.”

Beau smiled, though not too much. A suspicious tone still lurked in Marshall's voice. “I did too. It was a-- mostly-- nice evening.”

“I mean it. I had a good night.” Marshall let his hand sneak over to Beau's leg.

Beau tensed. His grip squeaked on the steering wheel. “Marshall, what are you doing?”

“A really, _really_ good night.” Marshall's fingers slid down to Beau's thigh, where his fingertips massaged in slow motions. “So good.”

“ _Marshall_.” Beau warned and tried to press his knees together best he could.

Marshall leaned over. “I wanna show you how good.”

“Marshall. I'm driving.” Beau squirmed with a gasp when a finger dared higher up his thigh. “And your sister is in the back.”

“She's asleep.” Marshall shifted to press his tongue against Beau's neck. “That girl can sleep through any damn thing.”

“Marshall.” Beau shuddered at the feel of hot breath doubled with the smooth glide of Marshall's tongue.

“Marshall.”

Beau pulled a hand from the wheel to shove him away.

“Marshall, no.”

With a grin, Marshall leaned back in his seat where he remained quiet for the rest of the drive. Beau enjoyed the silence, though his eyes dared over every few minutes to make sure he wouldn't be caught off guard. When they arrived and Beau pulled into the dark driveway, Marshall unbuckled his seatbelt to reach back to his sister.

He made no effort to avoid pressing his side against Beau, who kept still. Moving would only draw attention to himself. Attention that was most unwanted with a thirteen year old sitting in the backseat.

“Hey.” Marshall pushed on Marceline's shoulder. “Wake up.” When he got nothing but a grunt in reply, he shook her. “Wake uuuuup.”

“Fuck off, douchebag.” Marceline groaned and pushed his hand away.

Beau made a face at the choice of language.

“We're home, assbutt.” Marshall squirmed over more, almost falling into the back seat as he reached for her face. “If you don't get up now I'm going to stick my fingers up your nose. Gonna wipe your gross boogies all over your face. Aaaall over.”

Marshall laughed as Marceline kicked him and he caught her foot, yanking her shoe off.

“UGH. Fine. Jeez. You're such a fucking immature piece of shit.” Marceline snatched her shoe back and stumbled out the car, legs still tired from sleep.

“Love you, baby sis.” Marshall called after her and she responded with an affectionate flick of her middle finger.

“You two have an---,” Beau struggled to find the words as Marshall slipped back down into his seat, “ _interesting_ relationship.”

“All bark, no bite. Well, Not anymore on the last bit.” Marshall gave a short laugh. “Kid was a fucking biter back in the day. But nah, sugar, nah. Ain't a drop of poison there.”

“Well.” Beau's strummed the steering wheel. “It was a pleasant evening, Marshall.” He smiled and glanced between him and the house before adding an awkward, “Goodnight.”

“Night's not over, sweetheart.” Marshall leaned in, grin at full spread.

Beau pulled back, their lips far too close for comfort.

“The car's parked.” Marshall turned off the engine while his other hand braced his weight on Beau's seat, near his shoulder. “The squirt's in bed.” Beau jerked as Marshall pulled the lever to tip his seat back.

Marshall's hand snaked down, palming over the heating bulge in Beau's pants as his fingers popped the top button undone. “Lemme show you just how much I enjoyed tonight by returning the favor, cupcake.”

Instead of closing, Beau's legs spread, just a little. He glanced towards the house, then to the darkness that concealed the driveway. It felt safe and thrilling all in the same moment. When Beau turned his head to say something, Marshall's head was already down in his lap.

Words fell away as Beau watched the way the dim light shone in Marshall's hair. A breath was caught in a gasp when his pants were yanked down enough to give Marshall's lips full access to Beau's underwear-clothed cock. Beau shuddered when Marshall ran his tongue along the fabric, the ball of his tongue ring leading the way.

“Cute panties.” Marshall lipped around the head of Beau's cock, which peeked out the rim of his underwear.

“They're n-no—ah—t.” Beau's head fell back with a moan as Marshall teased the slit of his member. The warm piercing dipping in ways the flesh of his tongue could not and each lapping motion sent tight heat through Beau's body. “P-Panties.”

“Mmm.” Marshall hummed with his lips pressed against the tip. “Whatever you say, sugar.”

He tugged down Beau's underwear, letting his full exposed cock slide across his face as his tongue traced down. Without a thought or command, Beau's hand settled on Marshall's head. Once Beau's fingers made contact, the soft tips caressed down to his scalp in gentle strokes. At the touch, Marshall shifted over his lap with more vigor, his tongue curling and teeth ghosting.

Marshall rose up enough to tuck his necklace into his shirt before descending back down, hand wrapping around what his mouth couldn't take. Beau groaned. The way the rough callouses of Marshall's hand doubled with the velvet warmth of his tongue made Beau's hips roll and his whimpers become needy.

The warm ball of Marshall's piercing made up for the soft gags that prevented him from taking in Beau's entire length. If Beau's mind wasn't otherwise occupied in the hot, tight, pumping, licking, teasing sensations, he would have laughed. At the very least he would have uttered a snarky comment over Marshall's oral abilities, but his voice was lost to breathy moans.

Every moan was some mangled form of Marshall's name.

“Mm.” Marshall pulled up, tongue curling around the head of Beau's cock. He tilted his head just enough to glance up at Beau from the corner of his eye. “How many times have you fantasized about this, sweetheart?”

“M-Marshall.” Beau's chest heaved and he tugged at his hair, but it only made Marshall suck harder. “Please,” Beau gasped before it was lost in a moan.

Marshall bobbed down as far as he could go, then made up for his lack of depth by stroking Beau's cock in steady, fluid motions. “Please what? Please let me come in your mouth?” The heat of Marshall's breath on his wet cock made Beau jerk with a whimper. “Yeah. That's exactly what you want, cupcake.”

Something snapped and Beau glanced over in a hazy stupor. Marshall's other hand was in his pants, adjusting himself. When Marshall breathed out a gasp of relief over his new found freedom, Beau shuddered. The cool of his breath over the dripping heat of Beau's cock, with that damn silver ball working its magic, it was almost too much.

“Yeah.” Marshall pressed the flat of his tongue against Beau's cock as his hands picked up speed on both Beau and himself. “Yeah, sweetheart, cupcake--- _Beau_. Come on. I wanna taste you.”

“Ffff—aaah.” Beau bit his lip. The spice of pain brought him to the edge. His nails dug into Marshall's scalp and he was helpless to keep his hips still.

“Fuck,” he gasped as he shifted to better stroke himself. “I need it, Beau.” His voice started to squeak at the edges in desperate whimpers. “I need you. Please. Ah, Beau.”

Everything went dizzy and hot and wonderful, like a sucker punch of tight pleasure. Beau threw his head back as he, and Marshall's lips, rode out his climax. He was left tingling and panting. Beau's ears rang and he gasped when he realized Marshall's soft gagging sounds were from pushing down on his head.

“I'm. I'm s-sorry,” Beau panted as he tried to catch his breath. He lifted his hand away, though not without a gentle stroke of his fingers through Marshall's hair first. “Are you, are you okay?”

“Yeah.” Marshall's voice was all breath as he licked his lips and leaned back in his seat, tilting it back to get a better angle. “I am so okay, cupcake. Sooo okay.”

The windows were well past fogged, but Beau didn't notice, his attention was on something far more interesting. Glinting in the dim light, Marshall's piercing bounced with each stroke of his cock. Letting his eyes break away, Beau watched Marshall's face. His eyes weren't closed, but instead half-lidded and staring--- at _him_.

“Marshall.”

“Tell me how much you want to fuck me, sweetheart.” Marshall's grin was broken by low panting. “Yeah. With that, ah, huge cock of yours. Just, fucking, ah. Fucking me 'til I can't move.”

Beau glanced back down at Marshall's hand and the way it worked along his cock. “Marshall.” He leaned over and Marshall followed.

They were so close that Beau could smell himself on Marshall's breath. Heat hit Beau's face and he ran his tongue over his own lips as he stared at Marshall's. After months and two blowjobs, they still hadn't kissed. Beau set his hand down over Marshall's and he slowed his stroking.

“Marshall.”

“Mmm—ah?”

“I'm only doing this because I don't want you to make a mess in my car.” Beau hoped his tone wouldn't betray him as he lowered his head.

“Yeah, I get ya, Beau.” Marshall pulled his hand away from himself as it was replaced with Beau's lips. “Ah, fuck.”

Under the experience of Beau's tongue, Marshall didn't last long.

Beau pushed his hair back as he sat up, licking the salt from his lips. Motion was a far gone possibility for Marshall, who lay there, dick out and softening. The only thing he could do was breathe and Beau watched him for a moment before reaching over. They exchanged glances, one questioning, the other answering. With great care, Beau helped Marshall tuck himself back into his pants.

“Thanks, cupcake,” Marshall hummed through a satisfied smile.

“Are you going to be able to make it to the house?” Beau adjusted himself and his seat.

“Yeah.” Marshall stretched long, like a content cat. “Mm. Fuck. You wore me out tonight with your awesome dinner and dessert.” He huffed a laugh out of his nose. “And second dessert.”

Beau's face went hot. “Goodnight, Marshall.”

“Or would it be more like an after dinner mint?”

“ _Goodnight_.”

“Goodnight, cupcake.”

With a soft laugh, and a bit of a groan, Marshall saw himself off. What was left of the night's meal was tucked carefully under his arm. Before stepping inside the house, Marshall turned on his heel to give a wink and kiss the air. Beau looked away, one hand to his face as he tried to rub away the heat.

There was a coldness in the drive back home. The car, and Beau's heart, felt much emptier than it had before. Beau sat in his car for several moment after he parked it in the garage. It was late, Finn was probably asleep or at least in his room. A sigh escaped Beau's lips when he looked over at the empty seat beside him.

He wondered what it would be like to kiss him, to taste Marshall, and himself, on those soft, wet lips. Another sigh. Another Thursday was nearing a close and Beau wasn't quite looking forward to the next morning. His car was too soaked in the scent of fresh memories.

And that both lifted and dropped his heart.

As he got out of the car, he paused when he noticed something in the backseat. It was Marshall's hoodie crumpled up in a ball where his sister left it.

Beau smiled to himself, small, but a smile nonetheless.

Maybe Thursdays weren't so bad after all.


	4. Golden Days

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had no beta for this chapter, so please excuse any errors! But oh hey, I'm working on this again.

Warm breezes cooled and the world turned golden. Among the dying leaves came cheesy decorations and excited children. Uncut pumpkins, awaiting their special night, sat in an uneven row on Beau's porch. There were four and Beau took great care stepping around them as he closed the door. In each hand he balanced a traveler's mug, because homemade was always better.

BEEEP.

**BEEE-BEEEEP.**

Beau refused to show the slightest bit of acknowledgment as he walked towards the beige minivan parked in his driveway. Something of a scolding glare slipped out when Marshall reached over from the driver's side to open the door. 

“I was already out.” Beau handed him a mug as he adjusted his coat to get in. 

“Not fast enough.” Marshall popped open the mug's mouth piece and sniffed its contents. “What's this?”

“Vanilla chai” Beau took a satisfied sip and then looked at Marshall with expectant eyes. “It's perfect for this kind of weather. Try it.”

Marshall smacked his lips after swallowing a mouthful. “Hmm. Mmm. Hm.”

“Well?”

“Tastes like pretentious.”

He grinned, eyes running all over Beau's face, laughing when they found the slightest twitch in his brow. “Calm down, cupcake. It's good, it's good. Don't get those cute little panties in a twist.” Marshall took another swig before setting the mug down. “Unless you're looking for someone to help untwist them.”

“It's a little early for that.” Despite the narrowing of his eyes, the corner of Beau's lips lifted. 

“Can't blame a guy for trying.” Marshall pulled out of the driveway and drove off, leaves billowing in his wake.

It was a quiet drive, which was unusual for Marshall, who always had some sort of something playing. Beau would have asked, but the evasive yet excited tone of their earlier phone call left him silent. Marshall's face, whenever Beau would sneak a glance, seemed like it was far away and living some when else. Past or present, Beau couldn't tell. 

Autumn had a way of blending the world into a huge colorful blur. Beau's mind drifted off, skimming over upcoming responsibilities and obligations. It wasn't until the crunch of gravel and the bounce of the van rolling off even roads that Beau realized they were somewhere else. Short rises of gray and white pierced hills carpeted in red and gold. Beau blinked, looked over at Marshall's unmoving face, then back outside as the car rolled to a stop in a small dusty parking area.

It was a graveyard, quiet and still except for the occasional shuddering of leaves.

“Ever been to a graveyard before?” Marshall opened his door, his voice subdued as if he was a child in church. 

“A few times--- when I was younger. For my grandparents' funerals.” Beau's voice trailed off as Marshall got out and went around to open the back of the van. Beau followed. “I was pretty close to them. They taught me all sorts of things. They're where a lot of my recipes come from. Grandpa even taught me how to change my oil once.”

Marshall pulled his guitar from the back and slung it over his shoulder and turned to Beau with a smirk. “You can change oil?” He closed the door with a huffing laugh. “Can't really see you getting that kind of down and dirty, cupcake.”

Beau's features tightened like a thunderstrike. “I'm capable of more than you think, thank you very much.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Marshall laughed as he walked past Beau, who followed with folded arms. “You're a regular Superman, huh?”

There wasn't an answer, just another glare.

Marshall laughed again, though his laughs were shorter and more controlled than his usual loud and free ones. “Okay, okay. Batman then. Damn near rich enough.”

“I don't have nearly _that_ much money.”

A few crows called to each other from distant ends of the graveyard. Most of the summer birds had already packed up and gone. Where there was once song, there was nothing. The two walked on; the leafy mix beneath their feet was almost loud enough to struggle talking over. 

“So if you're Batman, what would that make me? Robin? I'm young enough, right?”

Beau sighed.

Marshall snorted before turning off the path to pass several rows of headstones. Near the end, in an area bordered by a cluster of trees, was a headstone of dark granite. A cross was carved above the name, clean and simple. Marshall sat next to it, pulling his guitar into his lap. Beau froze and his stomach did an odd little flip as he glanced between the name and Marshall's face.

“You know,” Marshall strummed a few notes, “You wear your mind in your eyes.”

Beau's face went hot. The air was noticeably cooler on his cheeks. He tried to say something as he lowered himself down to the grass, but all words seemed like potential awkward situations. 

“And your heart in your face.”

The smile that followed made Beau turn his eyes elsewhere. The grins and the teasing verbal jabs he could handle, but something about that smile made it hard to look at, like the sun. He couldn't quite look directly at it.

A few notes on the guitar played into Marshall's voice like a soft introduction. “He's my dad.” 

Beau frowned.

“It's okay to ask questions.” 

There were questions, but they were the kind of questions that no matter how innocent they intended to be, they always seemed like they were going too far. Beau's mouth felt dry, even after a quick sip of chai. The look on Marshall's face seemed to do more than just welcome, but plead as well.

“What happened?” A small voice, barely over the breeze, was all Beau could manage. 

Marshall played a few vaguely familiar notes on the guitar. “He got sick.” 

“The kinda sick you don't get better from.” His fingers played what seemed of their own accord. “Marceline was too little to know what was happening. I dunno if she even remembers him at all.” The gentle pace of music picked up. “He got her this doll stuffed animal thing once. Damn thing's been destroyed more than a few times. Raggedy as hell.”

“But she sleeps with it every night.” His lips curled to a smile, eyes half lidded as his hands played on. “I don't ask, no one does, but I like to think she still remembers, even just a little.”

“He was a great guy.” His grin turned toothy and his eyes closed. 

Beau's lips pulled into a small smile, but other feelings kept them down. He gripped his mug tighter. 

“We did so much together. Mom was a real workaholic, always working.” Behind them, the trees shook and carried with them a tumble of leaves. “I think they had some sort of deal or something. Dunno, maybe mom knew he was sick long before they told me. He was one of those stay at home dads, you know? His cooking was real nice.”

Marshall turned to smile at Beau. “Like yours.”

Beau bit his lip and lowered his head into the collar of his coat a little with a small, “Thanks.”

“Things were tough for him, growing up.” Marshall looked back over at the headstone as a few stray leaves danced across it. “He never went into much detail about it, but it was real bad. The kinda bad that makes most people feel uncomfortable listening to.” He smirked and winked at Beau, whose nose crinkled. “But he got through it. He got through a lot of stuff.”

The guitar hummed to a stop as Marshall lifted up his necklace, the cross resting across his palm. “This was his. I don't remember seeing him go a day without it.” Something happened in Marshall's eyes, and he fought a smile to change it. “He said he didn't want to be buried with it.” The smile faded and he looked away with nothing but his profile in view. “So he gave it to me.”

Beau's chest felt tight all the way down to his stomach. A few fingers lifted off his mug. It wasn't something Beau felt much in his life, this unsureness. With his degrees, he could do a lot of things, but this was something that no school ever taught. It left him silent and paralyzed. 

Music brought back Marshall's voice, then his eyes. He smiled despite how his lips faltered. 

“Dad was all about music. When he wasn't taking care of us, he was making something beautiful. He was the kind of musician who could pick up anything and play it like a pro. It was some mindblowing stuff.”

Marshall strummed louder.

“This is for him.” 

The sounds of the graveyard melted away to the music. In the open sky, there were no walls to contain it. Beau watched Marshall as he played, his fingers picking out each note with familiar confidence. The way he moved, it seemed like the song played itself and Marshall merely provided support. It was a song that spoke from somewhere beyond himself.

It was like a heartbeat, a whole life story, in the dreams of the dead, in the hands of those left behind. 

Beau rubbed his eyes.

“It's hard to believe, I know, but I wanna be just like him.” The music stopped as he lifted up his cross and stared at it as if it could look back. “I promised I'd make him proud. Someday.”

“I'm sorry.” Beau rubbed harder with a subdued sniffle.

“Aw, hey. Nah.” Marshall swatted the air like he could brush the apology away. “Don't say that. I know people get all sad and want to say something, but saying sorry for that kind of stuff is just---”

“No. Not that.” Beau fumbled with his mug before setting it down in the grass. “I mean-- about you. I'm sorry.” He let out a little sigh. Each word felt very heavy. “For how I've treated you. I guess it was just hard for me to--- let certain things go and I'm sorry.”

Instead of an answer, there was silence. Beau looked up to find Marshall grinning with a hint of teeth. It only grew when Beau's face went hot and something lumped in his throat, but he swallowed it down.

“You're a good kid,” Beau forced out tight lips. 

Marshall laughed and bumped his shoulder into Beau's. “I try.” 

“Mmm. I'm serious though.” 

“Me too.” Marshall set the guitar aside and scooted over to sit in front of him. He leaned forward, like a cat investigating its owner's tears. 

“You do a good job.” Beau paused and exhaled at the small smile on Marshall's face. “Most of the time, you do a good job.”

“Even though I'm just a punkass kid?” Marshall's voice went smooth and his hands made themselves comfortable on Beau's legs. 

Beau perked a brow with a smile of his own. “Yeah.” He reached up, curled his fingers in Marshall's hair and tugged him forward for their first kiss. 

“Making dad proud right now.” Marshall growled low and Beau could feel the smirk on his lips. “Getting it good for ya, dad. Getting it good.”

Beau squirmed with a gasp of a laugh, silencing himself, and Marshall, with another kiss.

It was Thursday and the world was golden.


End file.
